


Homesickness

by octavius



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octavius/pseuds/octavius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Kirigakure one of them gets homesick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesickness

Home is the old docking ports with the fish merchants screaming their wares, and the great frozen carcasses laid out on woven grass mats, the rare and distinctive stink of the harbor. To him they are the smells of childhood and since he is an only child it is he who carefully stores these particular traits. Itachi gives him one of his peculiar side-long looks when they cross the border into Kirigakure, it's the look that Kisame has come to interpret as curiosity, a conversation opener.

"I was born here" he says sniffing their air once. (Smells are very much his specialty; dense greasy scents--dried squid, chewy papery, a treat). He turns to Itachi, "I'm sure you've heard fish can travel miles to find where they were spawned." His partner murmurs an agreement looking out at the bay. The water is a copper green, ugly, really.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer," Itachi asks much later, stark naked and fiddling with the window of their room. It's made of long horizontal strips of glass, the angle affording it to remain closed or open. "Yes" and Kisame says it very simply. Waiting. They don't touch very often. That had been one of his first thoughts, his great hand on a boy's stomach. Even at sixteen he was still too slim. Once, it had reminded him of fishing in high altitude rivers and ponds, the fish there unused to being preyed upon. Once hooked they writhed bodily to be free. 

As he watches, Itachi opens the glass a chink and sticks a finger through, says "if it's your home..." and trails off. They have a view of an alley, and beyond that the rising hills filled with the the squalid ramshackle homes along the lip of the bay. It looks nothing like Konoha. It is nothing like Konoha. Through the open window comes the sounds of cats or whores yowling, high up, almost like the wail of mourners.


End file.
